Tennessee Whiskey

by Donna K. Ford

  “What is this place?” Dane asked, stopping the Jeep.

  “It’s just a place where people party. We call it the four-lane.”

  “Okay. It’s the party place. Why are we here?”

  Curtis fidgeted with the old silver dollar he wore on a chain around his neck.

  Dane was getting a bad feeling about this. Curtis was up to something.

  “Look, man, give it up, or I’m turning this Jeep around and going home.”

  “No. Just wait a minute,” Curtis protested. “I’m meeting a friend here. He told me he’d be here.”

  Dane grabbed Curtis by the arm. “Why here? Why couldn’t you meet in town or at the bar? I warned you, Curtis—I don’t want anything to do with drugs.”

  Curtis didn’t say anything.

  “Curtis?”

  “Emma doesn’t like me talking to Trevor.”

  Dane frowned. “Who’s Trevor?”

  Curtis turned in his seat to face her. “He’s my friend. He hangs out with me and doesn’t let people pick on me. I do things for him sometimes.”

  The bad feeling Dane had earlier was getting worse.

  The sound of an ATV roared through the trees. Someone was coming. Curtis opened the door and jumped out of the Jeep before Dane could stop him.

  “Damn it.” This wasn’t good.

  She waited at the edge of the tree line. She could see Curtis standing next to a side-by-side ATV. The driver was a big man with a bald head and a bushy black beard. Curtis was acting nervous. He kept shifting his feet and moving his hands around in the air. He stepped up to the ATV. His back was to Dane, making it hard for her to see what was happening. Curtis was suddenly very still.

  Dane put the Jeep in gear and inched forward.

  Curtis stepped away from the ATV. He was laughing. He had one hand in his pocket and waved to the man with the other. The man in the ATV spun the tires, throwing rocks and dirt behind him. He disappeared into the trees as quickly as he had arrived.

  “What the hell was that about?” Dane asked the moment Curtis was back at the Jeep. “What are you mixed up with, Curtis?”

  “Nothing, I promise.”

  “Are you buying drugs from this guy?”

  “No. He gives me weed sometimes, but that’s no big deal.”

  Dane raised her eyebrows, surprised by the answer. “No big deal, huh? Then I guess it’s okay for Emma to know about this.”

  “No,” Curtis said, his eyes wide with fear. “I told you, Emma doesn’t like me talking to Trevor. She’ll just get mad.”

  “Is he one of the guys she doesn’t want you hanging out with that sometimes get you into trouble?”

  Curtis dropped his head, suddenly interested in the strings hanging from a rip in his jeans. “Yeah. You aren’t going to tell her, are you?”

  Dane wasn’t sure what she should do. Curtis was an adult, but not really. And Emma would kill her if anything happened to Curtis and she hadn’t said anything about this.

  “If you don’t want me to tell Emma, you have to promise me you won’t meet with this guy anymore. You at least have to promise to tell me and let me go with you.”

  “Trevor is my friend. I’m not doing anything wrong,” Curtis argued. He slumped his shoulders when Dane didn’t give in. “Fine. I’ll tell you.”

  Dane sat back in her seat, satisfied this was the most she was going to get from Curtis. She turned the Jeep around. “Let’s get out of here. We’ve already wasted most of the morning with this. I still want to get to the cemetery today. No more stops and no more tricks. Do you understand?”

  “Sorry, Dane. Don’t be mad.”

  Dane shook her head, wondering what it would take to get through to the kid. “You can’t keep doing this to me, Curtis. I need to know I can trust you.”

  Curtis sat up suddenly. “You can trust me. I keep secrets all the time. Everyone knows my word is good. You’ll see, Dane—I’ll take you today, and I’ll tell you when I see Trevor again. I always keep a promise.”

  Dane knew Curtis meant what he said. She just wondered what promises he had made to Trevor.

  * * *

  Curtis led Dane down a narrow dirt path that looked more like a forgotten old driveway than a road. The brush had grown over into the road and scraped the sides of the Jeep as they crawled over the rocks and gullies carved into the path by off-road tires and heavy rains. The road suddenly disappeared into a fast-moving creek. The water didn’t look too deep, but she knew she risked sinking into the wet sandy soil if she didn’t get this right. She peered across, trying to judge the tracks climbing out of the water on the other side. She eased into the water, not pushing too hard, but making sure to keep the vehicle moving. She bounced and rocked as the Jeep maneuvered over the river rock. The water was getting high, but the old Jeep managed to keep running. Dane drove up the bank, relieved to have solid ground under her. Half a mile later she came to a clearing on a hill.

  “This is it,” Curtis announced, sounding proud of himself.

  Dane climbed out of the Jeep next to a large white oak tree. An old wooden chair leaned against the base of the tree, and a faded American flag hung proudly from a pole attached high up on the trunk. Dane worked her way through the overgrown grass and weeds, carefully reading the names on the stones. Some were so old she could barely make out the words. She was overwhelmed by the number of graves belonging to babies, their ages ranging from one day to only a handful of years. Many of the graves were marked simply with a flat rock turned on its side and driven into the ground. Faint grooves in the sandstone hinted of what had once been etched there. She pulled a pad of paper from her bag and placed it against one of the larger rocks. She rubbed against the paper with the side of a pencil. Slowly the grooves in the stone began to show as empty spaces on the page. Dane could make out a few of the words. “Jacob Wilks 18-something to 1896.”

  Curtis whistled. “Dang, that’s a long time ago.”

  “Yeah, it was.” Dane said moving on to the next grave. The earth had caved in from decay and the stone leaned sideways. A stick snapped under her foot. An eerie rattle sounded from the grave. Dane jumped back. The largest snake she had ever seen reared its head, its tail vibrating a warning for her to back off.

  “Watch out, Dane.” Curtis pushed Dane back away from the snake. “You gotta be careful. That snake means business. You got too close to its nice comfy bed. I’ll take care of it.”

  Curtis went to the woods and came back with a long stick.

  “Hey, don’t hurt it. It was here first. He lives here—I’m just visiting.”

  Curtis grinned. “I won’t hurt it. See how big he is? By the number of buttons on his tail, that snake’s gotta be at least seven or eight, hell, maybe even ten years old. This old guy has earned his way.”

  Curtis slid the stick under the snake and gently lifted it out of the hole. The snake was even bigger than Dane thought. It had to be at least four feet long and three inches in diameter in the middle. Curtis carried the snake to the edge of the woods and lowered it to the ground, careful not to get in its path.

  Dane grinned when Curtis turned back to her, smiling like he’d just won a ribbon at the fair.

  “Thanks, man,” Dane said, with praise.

  Curtis stuck his hands in his pockets looking sheepish. “What are you lookin’ for in these graves, anyway?”

  “Answers,” Dane said turning back to the headstone. She brushed her hand across the cold gray stone, dislodging years of dirt and bits of moss. A name slowly emerged. Caldwell Stewart. “This is it.”

  Dane took out her camera and snapped a picture of the stone. This was the first real lead she’d found since she started this journey. She moved on to the next stone. Mary George Stewart. Her heart sped up. Each new stone felt like a step closer to her own truth. Seeing the names made her feel like she had roots somewhere, that there was more to her than the cold distance she’d learned from her father.

  She stopped at a large stone at the end of a row.
It was newer than the others. The stone was gray granite, and weather and fungus had yet to tarnish the sheen of the polish or fill in the letters engraved on the surface. Isaak Stewart 1936–1986 and Ida George Stewart 1942–2007. Together in Heaven Forever. Dane ran her hand across the names as if stroking the weathered face of an elder. Curtis circled the grave, sticking close to Dane. He was unusually quiet.

  “Hey, there’s writing on this side too,” he said excitedly, breaking the silence.

  Dane circled the stone. Her heart fluttered. “Oh my God, these people are my grandparents.”

  “Really?”

  “I believe so,” Dane said, kneeling before the list of names identifying the couple’s children and grandchildren. “See this name here? Pearl Jean Stewart. That was my mother’s name.”

  “That’s a nice name,” Curtis said, placing his hand on Dane’s shoulder.

  Dane nodded again, a lump forming in her throat. “I never knew any of her family. I remember vague stories she used to tell me about her mother and sisters, but I don’t remember them ever visiting, or even ever talking to them on the phone. I didn’t know them at all.”

  “Sorry, Dane. I can’t imagine not having family around. I’ve got Emma and a bunch of cousins around I can see anytime I want. I would be lonely if I didn’t have them.”

  Dane patted his shoulder. “It’s okay, Curtis. I’m okay. I can learn about them now.” She took a picture of the stone, front and back. “They haven’t been gone that long. Someone has to know something about them, about my mother.”

  “Like what?” Curtis asked.

  “I want to know what she was like as a kid. What her life was like before she met my father. Why she never came back here. Why they were never a part of my life.” She turned to Curtis. “Do you know any of the names here?”

  Curtis shook his head.

  “What about the name George? Do you know anyone with that last name? It doesn’t seem too common, even around here.”

  Curtis shrugged. “I don’t remember anybody named George.”

  Dane wasn’t surprised, but she was still disappointed. She had the names she needed, and now she just needed to find someone who knew them, who would talk to her. If she was lucky, some of her family still lived around here.

  “What will you do now? Curtis asked.

  “I start asking questions, I guess. Who knows, I may get lucky just looking through the phone book.”

  Curtis nodded. “Don’t worry, you’ll find them. I’ll help you find them.”

  Dane put her arm around his shoulder. “Thanks, Curtis. You’re a good friend.”

  He beamed. He threw his arm around her shoulder and they walked arm in arm back to the Jeep.

  Dane’s stomach rumbled. “I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry.”

  “I’m always hungry. I bet Emma will make us a sandwich.”

  Dane laughed. “I bet she will.”

  * * *

  Dane followed Curtis into the bar and settled in her usual spot. The gentle hum of music and conversation surrounded her like the haunting voices of the dead. She was tired from searching for the answers she wanted and running from the memories she couldn’t forget.

  “What’s up, Curtis?” Emma asked, wiping down the bar.

  “Just hanging out. We found Dane’s grandparents’ graves today. Saw a big-ass rattler too. He must have been four feet long.”

  Emma shook her head, looking to Dane. “Did you find the answers you were looking for?”

  “Just a bunch of names for now. The ghosts weren’t talking, but maybe someone around here will.”

  “Give it time,” Emma said gently.

  Dane looked at the wall behind Emma’s head. “How about a shot of Jack and a beer.”

  Emma glanced back at the bottle of Jack Daniel’s. “I don’t think you’ll find any answers in a bottle of Tennessee Whiskey.”

  Dane tapped the bar with one finger. “No, but I’ve got a few things I would like to forget tonight, and my buddy Jack has the cure I’m looking for.”

  Emma shook her head. “Suit yourself.” She poured a shot and set a bottle of beer on the counter in front of Dane.

  “What about you, Curtis?”

  Curtis grinned. “I’ll have a beer and a bologna sandwich with cheese, pickles, and onions.”

  Emma laughed. “Of course, why did I even have to ask?”

  Dane held up two fingers. “How about a double this time?”

  Emma sighed and poured the drink.

  “What’s her problem?” Dane asked as Emma went to the kitchen.

  Curtis shrugged.

  Dane took another drink, letting the whiskey burn its way down her throat before taking a drink of the ice-cold beer. The familiar burn of the whiskey collided with the cold chill of the beer creating the numbness that she was looking for. She knew it was only temporary. The past would be knocking on her door as soon as she opened her eyes in the morning. But if she was lucky, she wouldn’t remember the nightmares that would haunt her through the night.

  “I’ll catch you later, Dane,” Curtis said finishing his beer and pushing his plate aside.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I got stuff to do.”

  “Like what?”

  Curtis put his hand on Dane’s back and leaned close. “I’m going to see a girl,” he whispered into her ear.

  “Really? Ha, you dog.”

  Curtis smiled. “Don’t tell Emma. I don’t want her to lecture me.”

  Dane slapped Curtis on the back. “All right, man. Good luck.”

  As Curtis stepped away, a tall man with a thick beard and black cowboy hat took his seat. He nodded to Dane.

  “How’s it going?” Dane said, tossing back the last of the whiskey.

  The big man ordered a beer.

  Dane signaled for another double. “Hey, what’s your name, man?” She felt a cold shiver run up her spine when the big man turned to her.

  “Who wants to know?” His voice was so deep it rumbled when he spoke.

  “I’m Dane.”

  The guy looked at her like she was something he wanted to pick off the bottom of his shoe. He planted his elbows on the bar and leaned forward, blocking Dane with his huge arm.

  “Okay. Guess you don’t want to talk. That’s cool. I was just wondering if you’ve ever heard of Pearl Jean Stewart?”

  The big man’s beard bristled as he worked his jaw.

  Dane took another drink. “She used to live around here. Ever heard of her?”

  He turned up his beer and drained it. “I can’t help ya,” he grumbled. “Do ya mind? If I wanted to hear a woman yap in my ear all night, I would’ve stayed home.”

  “Oh. Yeah. Sure, sorry.” Dane pinched her thumb and finger together in front of her mouth and moved her hand from one side to the other. “All zipped up. I won’t say another word. Sorry I bothered you.”

  The big guy turned back to the bar.

  Dane looked into her glass, swirling the amber liquid in the glass. She closed one eye and squinted into the liquid. Nope. No answers there either.

  Chapter Three

  The bar was slammed. It seemed the rain brought everyone out of the woodwork. Emma hadn’t had a moment to catch her breath. It was days like this when she wished Curtis would help her out more. It would be nice to have a hand occasionally. Where was that kid, anyway? She hoped he wasn’t out in this downpour. Sometimes the kid didn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground.

  Emma fished six cold beers out of the cooler and arranged them in a tin bucket, then covered them with ice. At least when the orders came in buckets, she got to make fewer trips around the room, but she still couldn’t keep up with the food orders. She rubbed her arm across her brow, wiping away the sweat with her sleeve.

  She looked up to see Dane walk in through the back door, shaking rain from her hair. Curtis wasn’t with her. Dammit. He was never around when there was work to do. She went back to the kitchen to grab the french fries she
’d left in the fryer. When she came back, Dane was bussing tables and taking out the trash. Emma was surprised. It wasn’t Dane’s responsibility, but she was grateful for the help.

  Maybe if Dane stayed busy, she wouldn’t end up at the end of a bottle by the end of the night. Dane had been drinking more the last few days, and Emma wondered if she was on a course for self-destruction. Dane hadn’t caused any trouble, but Emma could tell there was trouble brewing in her eyes.

  Emma grabbed the bucket of beer and stepped through the growing crowd. She didn’t have time to daydream or fix Dane’s problems. She was buried under a heap of her own.

  * * *

  Dane grabbed a handful of napkins and wiped the rain off her face and neck. She tossed her jacket into the small utility closet and grabbed a trash bag. She had learned not to ask Emma if she could help—she just started cleaning up. Emma never broke stride. She went on as if it was normal for Dane to work at the bar.

  The hours passed in a blur. Dane wondered how Emma kept up the pace day after day, week after week. Even when she wasn’t running the bar, she was doing things on the farm.

  By the time the bar closed, Dane was exhausted. She had looked for Curtis all night, but he hadn’t shown up. She was getting a little worried. It wasn’t like him to miss dinner. Most likely he had seen the crowd and was afraid Emma would make him work if he came inside. She sighed. She hoped he had kept his promise and wasn’t off somewhere with Trevor. Emma might be overprotective, but Dane agreed with Emma about Trevor. He was bad news—she could feel it.

  Dane cleared empty bottles off the last table as Emma locked the doors. Emma had had a good night, but at a personal price. She looked exhausted.

  “Ever thought of taking a day off?” Dane asked as she restocked the cooler with bottles of beer.

  “Ha.” Emma shook her head. “I’m tempted to take every day off, but someone’s got to get things done. I don’t know how Daddy did it all those years.” She paused. “But I guess Daddy could do anything as long as he had Momma. Together they were an unstoppable force. It’s a hard act to follow on my own.” Emma opened a beer and handed it to Dane, then opened one for herself. “Thanks for all the help tonight. It would have been rough without you.”